by Donovan Neal
”I think not brother, and I will take no part in this travesty. Ye both have caused great harm this day, and this madness must come to an end now.”
Talus laughed defiantly. “End? Indeed today, we shall put an end to the problem that has plagued Heaven for far too long. Today we shall see the fall of the house, Issi!”
Gabriel realized whatever blood lust Talus had; was now in control of his ability to reason.
Gabriel turned to his left and noted the legion of angels that now approached him. All paused in a mass intermission of hostilities. A thousand eyes bored down in recognition to take note that a Malakim was in their midst. Each within his vicinity paused to determine if he was friend or foe, and Gabriel saw that his every move was watched, as both house Issi and Arelim studied to see for whose cause he would fight.
Gabriel saw that they too were lost in madness, an infection of revenge that manifested itself throughout the throng and was now as a stench wafted aloft in full bloom. Offense, anger, and retaliation raced through the crowd that Gabriel had dared handle Prince Sariel, dared that he would raise his hand in defiance to the prince who now lay unconscious. The swelling throng then gave voice to what he knew permeated their hearts. Cautiously they inched towards him; eyes ablaze that he had dared challenged their Prince.
“He has raised his hand against an Issi,” said one.
“Then cut off his hand,” yelled another in reply.
“Another lackey to the God King,” said another.
Gabriel in all his seasons had never experienced the sensation of alienation that now overtook him. It was a new thing this awareness, an overwhelming sense that his difference created exposure, and that exposure posed danger. A danger that emanated from those he would call brethren. The thought of this cognizance, this — division chilled him to the bone.
In Heaven, there was neither male nor female, no recognition of an identity apart from El. But El’s Sabbath had created a vacuum in the spirit, a swirling void that bled dry Heaven's holiness and cohesion, and instead ejected disunion, strife, and hate. An absence that created a consciousness of an existence apart from the living God, and in this new atmosphere, order degenerated into chaos. Gabriel noted that fear now settled over him, as night would overtake the escaping sun.
Gabriel was a Malakim, a messenger forever called to deliver the word of El. There were few of his kind in the Third Heaven, for many were off throughout the second heaven holding up all things by El’s word. The need to be with his own kind gripped him. As a man slapped to prevent unconsciousness, so too was Gabriel now aware that here under the golden hued skies of Heaven he was not safe.
Gabriel looked at Sariel still unconscious. He moved quickly, and placed him over his shoulders tucked securely with two of his four wings within the cleft of his back.
The sound of outrage echoed roundabout him as he handled the prince.
“And where do you think you are going with him?” Talus said.
Gabriel stood mute, leaped over Talus, and with a flash of light, the Leopard of Heaven fled. His available and unencumbered wings unfurled and hurtled Gabriel at breakneck speed back to Jerahmeel. There was strength in unity and the place of unity was where he needed to be if he and his brother would stop the insanity that plagued the great houses this day. So the Leopard of Heaven ran to escape those whom he called brethren, and whose minds were now gripped in madness.
As a cheetah moves through the plains, Gabriel raced back towards the direction of the city. Gabriel flew with ankle-winged feet over the grassy hills and to the woods of Mirabelle. Mirabelle, a forest of honey trees, filled Heaven’s air with the scent of cinnamon from their bark and bled sugar from their porous leafs. Their sweet aroma hit Gabriel, but he could not pause to enjoy the pleasures of Heaven this day. Nay, leisure to taste and be dazzled by their multicolored beauty would be denied him, as he wove a path, and dashed between the trees. Gabriel’s heart pumped fast and the strength of his gait drowned out all things as he ran across the forest floor to return to the solace of Jerahmeel. The canopy from the tall manna leaves loosed golden rays of light. For a moment, relief filled him knowing that just beyond the acres of Heaven’s foodstuff. Jerahmeel stood within the city gates ready to assist him.
Gabriel briefly allowed himself to hope until from his hind his peace dissolved as broken branches woke him from the illusion that safety was yet to come. Runners are warned never to look back; so as not to lose focus on the prize that is set before them. Gabriel did not so, but now turned rearward to hear the thunder of wings and the stomp of hooves behind him.
The ground shook as the tumult of hoofs pummeled the earth in pursuit of the Leopard of Heaven, and he saw their dust trails litter and begin to gray the golden sky. As a pack of jackals might hunt a fox, a hundred thousand angels ran hot in pursuit of Gabriel. A hundred thousand rabid Arelim and Issisi hooves crushed the soft petals of Mirabelle and manna leaf below their feet. Each one with eyes ablaze, set to overtake him at all costs.
********************
They attacked, the guardians of Athor did. From the sky, they dove to smite the Myrmidon of Hell. In wave after endless wave, they accosted Charon. With newly minted swords, they assailed him in droves.
“Bring him down!” Taurus yelled.
Jaredeem of the house of Draco lifted his voice and like all Draco unleashed a roar of a sonic boom that he might bring Charon to his knees. The concussive wave of sound made its way through the air only to flow around Charon’s frame as water glides around the belly of a goose on the surface of the water. The air was meaningless to a creature birthed within the Kiln. Charon unleashed barbed tentacles from his equine body and wrapped Jaredeem in coils of punishment for his folly.
Jaredeem fell to his knees in agony. His hands held his throat as he gurgled from the blood that now filled his lungs, and his body contorted in pain. Pain, an experience he was never designed to know. Pain that coursed through him like a thousand needles that stabbed into him at once. Pain as the flames of Hell liquefied his esophagus. Pain because he had a mouth, but could not scream. The vocal cords which before had been used to sing the praises of El used to assist Heaven's and Earth's various choirs in song were now dangled as soiled menstrual rags to be discarded in Charon’s tentacled hand. Now tossed to his rearward where the remoras of Hell feasted on all things angelic.
Hell tasted angel flesh and multiplied her fiery maggots, the horrific fiery worms that did not die, bred by the tainted flesh of changed Elohim who would now eternally be cremated in Hell's fire.
Charon marched towards Lucifer’s chief palace, unstoppable and undeterred by the thousand arrayed against him. Charon was an army of one, a mobile force of nature whose very breath immobilized those in front of him. His socketless eyes pierced and brought his enemies to their knees to sob uncontrollably. Angels whose eyes locked with his stood dazed as if looking into nothing, but seeing played before them the futility to fight. Many knelt in the hypnotic trance of despair and wailed as the flames simply overtook them where they cried.
Angel after angel was rooted in shock motionless as their very flesh was eaten away only to create and ignite even more pyres, they stood transfixed in horror at the image they saw of themselves in Charon’s eyes. Engorging Hell’s taste for the delicacy of Elomic flesh, the devourer of angels craved more. For Hell was lust. She was oblivious to all but one thing: she must feed, and the legions, which dared to interject themselves in Charon’s path, provided her sustenance.
Charon ripped stones from flesh and provided Hell morsel after delicious morsel, and with each stones' destruction, the trail of angelic dust littered the ground like freshly packed snow.
“In El’s name, he cannot be stopped!” yelled one.
Taurus who had observed the battle from afar realized the true nature of Charon. If they attacked in mass, more tentacles sprouted from his body to repel them. For every attack directed against him, he simply grew stronger. It was then that Taurus knew that against
this abomination from the Kiln resistance was futile. With hammers for hands, Charon smashed his way against the throng, and bodies sailed in all directions. Forward still Charon marched and with barbed tentacles, he whiplashed angel after angel into submission. Others he picked up and flung headlong into buildings and trees. Some asphyxiated, for Charon suffered none to bar him. Stones were smashed and throats cut. Nothing stopped the force that marched only hundreds of yards toward the palace walls. For Charon moved without pause and trod over bodies piled underneath him.
Screams filled the air. Smoke and flames jetted across the sky, and angelic blood flowed as rainwater might pour through the drains of a city. Hell’s fires advanced as waves that crashed against the shore. Like storm surge, the flames moved and followed Charon on his path, and with every living thing the fires touched, life drained, and agony ensued.
For once entrapped in Hell’s unforgiving embrace; the flesh festered releasing hundreds of new parasitic worms that raced across the Athorian battlefield. Taurus realized to fight against Charon was to battle Hell itself. Nay, for Hell and Charon, were but mere, singular and localized manifestations of the wrath of God. Taurus sighed in the light of this revelation; in the knowledge, that perhaps to follow Lucifer was indeed to have followed madness. Nevertheless, he was Elohim, and Elohim did not defer to failure and in that instant, Taurus gave the order that would seal his own doom.
“Bring him down whatever the cost! For freedom — for Lucifer!” Taurus shouted.
The battle cry carried across the field of Athor, and angels attacked with desperate ferociousness in the knowledge that to attack Charon was perhaps never again to breathe Earth's air. Using all means available to them to slow, nay stop the Warden of Hell, they threw themselves at him, a phalanx of wings, muscle, and swords to take down he who would trespass the ground of their Lord’s house.
The land rose in upheaval and shook its objection, as Elohim who could control the ground brought their powers to bear, and the Earth itself rose as an enemy against the myrmidon. Charon latched his great tentacles as anchors in the earth’s flesh, and they bored until he hit rock, and, as a surfer would ride the waves of the tide. Charon strode upon the back of the land. As the earth opened to bury him, Charon launched more anchors to pieces of ground that were undisturbed. Unstoppable, he inched closer toward the Athorian wall before him.
As ants fight off an attacker to their nest: so too did the Elohim launch wave after endless wave against him. And for each Elohim that engaged him, he slowed, his advance postponed until there were no Elohim left to fight.
The angels buzzed like a swarm to Charon and commanded all the elements to engage Him. From the scorched flash of lightning to the rumble of the earthen floor, each converged to the place upon which Charon stood. A great cloudburst of rain poured upon Charon, and the droplets fell from the sky. Each bead designed to extinguish hell’s flame.
Steam wafted into the sky and the hiss of evaporation against the flickering tongue of the inferno’s heat made the watery cloudburst of no effect. This was hell fire. It kindled off the flesh of Elohim–birthed from the cauldron of the Kiln itself. It could not be extinguished, and it would never go out.
Charon’s eyeless sockets gazed upon the battalion sprawled before him. With gaps for ears, he heard the wails and cries of battle as they moved closer to engage him. They ran, flew, and galloped. Issi, Arelim, Harrada, and Kortai. Elohim of every race and station leaped to smite the warden to no avail. Charon simply marched ever forward.
For on this day, he who would bar the path of Charon only hastened his own doom.
********************
“Are you alright?” Michael said.
“Aye,” replied Raphael, “Yet my leg is pinned somehow; I cannot move it.”
The dust slowly dissipated as Michael and Raphael moved gingerly among the rubble strewn over and around them. Charon’s assault was closer now, his presence nearer to the origin of his prey.
“I too am bound by these shackles yet still. My hands are not free to lift the beam from off you.”
Suddenly there was a pounding on the chamber door.
“Prince Michael, Prince Raphael! Can you hear me?” said a panicked, shrill voice.
“In here!” Michael replied. “Quickly in here!”
The door flung open and wood and metal flew across the room. Arms grabbed the sides of the door jam, and a figure stepped into the room and carefully walked over debris that lay strewn across the entryway.
“Prince Michael?” said the voice.
“Aye — but who art thou? And art thou friend or foe?”
The dust settled, and it became clear to Michael that the figure, which raced over towards Raphael, was a Kortai his brother in league to the city of Athor: Iofiel.
"My liege let me assist you.” Iofiel raced to his Lord’s side and picked up pieces of rubble strewn on the floor from the collapsed ceiling.
“Hurry!” said Michael. “Charon’s path will bring him here soon; we cannot delay.”
Iofiel reached Raphael and lifted a large beam from over his waist, freeing the Grigori.
“Ah, much thanks,” said Raphael.
Iofiel nodded and turned to free Michael. Grabbing him with his great arms, Iofiel hoisted him up from off the floor tossing rubble to the side.
“Can you break the shackles?” asked Michael
“Yes, stand still and stretch out your arms,” Iofiel replied.
Michael did so, and Iofiel with a swipe of his hand smashed the links that held the cuffs tight. Michael flexed, and the shackles snapped free, leaving broken links dangling from his wrists as an ornate set of bracelets.
Michael rubbed his wrists to massage them and spoke. “Thank you, my brother. Come, we must go quickly before the Warden befalls this place. We must warn the princes in Heaven of Lucifer’s treachery before he has time to launch his assault.” Michael nodded to Raphael and turned to go when Iofiel grabbed Michael by the arm to stop him.
“But, my Lord, there are those here on Earth and in Athor who require aid, for Lucifer hast moved all those that would oppose him to a camp deep beneath the Earth. We cannot abandon them!”
Michael eyed Iofiel curiously. “A camp?” Michael replied. “What do you mean he moved them? How many?”
“The exact count is not known, my Lord. However, several thousand have not bowed their knee to the Chief Prince. What I do know is that Lucifer has sought to imitate El and hast made an abode where all those that would defy him would dwell. He views his prison, his ‘Tartarus’ he calls it, as benevolent in comparison to Hell. He is mad I tell you, simply mad. He announced to all those within Athor that he would bring justice to our realm.”
"He said to us all, ‘peace’, ‘peace’, yet destruction swiftly followed for all those that would not bow the knee and abdicate allegiance to El. He and a host surrounded us and with his voice, he caused the earth to shake beneath us, and when the ground opened her mouth to swallow us, he had Lilith, the rogue Grigori, create an abominable Ladder that transported everyone to a wretched place of darkness. A new realm within the Earth itself made he and thus imprisoned those who had once helped raise the very stones that decorate this fair kingdom.
Those who tried to reason with him he set as an example to us all. He publicly lifted Crocellus of the Kortai from a tree and had Abaddon chain him thereon. When the restraints were sure, Abaddon gouged with his bare hands the stone of God from his flesh and crushed it into powder. We watched as his stone became as sand in the wind.
Lucifer smiled at us and said that if we would not serve, then dissolution awaited us, or we could accept imprisonment as an act of his mercy. An imprisonment he called Tartarus, yet it is more than a prison; it is a camp of dissolution, a place that in darkness he brings to naught all those that might stand against him. Therefore, we must go far below the city's foundations, near the center of the Earth’s heart. There he hast hidden Tartarus from the gaze of those in the Third Heaven.”
Iofiel replied, “I have learned in these dark times to feign fealty to the Lightbringer that I may in some fashion bring to naught his plans. I waited for an occasion to act and watched as he brought you here and stayed near in hopes to succor some opportunity that I might give thee aid. Behold, now my cowardice and failure to act sees the very vengeance of God at Athor’s doorstep ready to destroy all that my prince had commanded me to build. For this I am ashamed.”
Michael spoke. “Do not be deceived; cowardice on your part doth not bring Charon to Athor. Nay but the Destroyer he hunts, and will do so until Abaddon rests within the bowels of Hell once more. Cease to wonder if your actions bring dishonor, for who knew that for such a time as this hast thou come to this place to save us? For El’s thoughts are marvelous, and his ways are past finding out.”
Iofiel bowed and replied, “Then I adjure thee by the living God, do not deny your servant this request. But let us go quickly and bring relief to those trapped in the confinement of Lucifer’s making, for I would seek how we might frustrate the cause of he who is now the King of Falsehood.”
“No,” said Michael.
Raphael looked at his brother with a puzzled look. “Michael, what do you mean ‘no’? If Lucifer has entrapped our brethren …”
“Lucifer would not do such a thing! He is Lumazi, he is Chief Prince, and he walks amidst the Stones of Fire”
Pleading Raphael spoke, “But Michael you saw where Abaddon’s Ladder ended and who stood there waiting to receive him. What further proof do you need that Lucifer has betrayed us? Did not the Father tell us so?”
“Enough,” replied Michael.
“Michael—I know this must be hard to hear, but whom else but Lucifer could free Abaddon? You know this to be true.”
“That’s enough!” Michael yelled.